


A Lion With No Title

by Rasy Tojas (ambaila)



Series: A New King's Landing [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Post Season 8, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 22:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambaila/pseuds/Rasy%20Tojas
Summary: Death knocked on his door. It lingered. Jaime Lannister waited for the day he was free of it.





	A Lion With No Title

**One**

Death. It was knocking. He could feel his body slipping away. Death said nothing, simply let him hear Cersei’s screams before the boulders collapsed on top of them. For all the people he innocently murdered, Death was coming to collect.

He knew he was dead when he saw sunlight. It peaked through a window in a chamber. The air was warm. Jaime Lannister had gotten used to the cold chill that death draped him in. In a feather bed, Jaime groaned as he moved. 

The door to the chamber had opened and a young maid entered. No more than ten and six he had to guess.  _ She must be a girl I murdered _ , Jaime thought. He let her tend to the wounds in his side, where Euron Greyjoy did what he needed to do. The girl had him drink something and the cold started to creep in. 

“Oh for the love of the Gods wake up you idiot,” A voice called. 

Blearily, Jaime opened his eyes. Again. Sunlight through the window. Warmth in the room. Feather bed. 

Except, instead of the girl stood his brother. Ragged. Dirty. Distressed. Tyrion Lannister, despite all those things was standing there, alive. 

“What - “ 

“You’re in Pentos,” Tyrion explained. “I just got here.” 

“What -” 

“We don’t have much time,” Tyrion explained. “Now that you wake easier, you’re to be put on the boat. His Grace would live to have an audience.” 

“His Grace?” 

“I’ll explain later,” Tyrion said, his tone honest. “Let’s go. Up, up.” 

Jaime stood, carefully and shakily, he moved to the chair that had clothes for him. A black tunic and black breeches. 

Even after he went to the Docks and loaded the large ship that his brother came in on, he wasn’t sure Death had stopped knocking on Jaime Lannister’s door. 

**Two**

Dressed in red and gold, feeling as uncomfortable as one could, standing in the remnants of the Throne Room he had come to know, Jaime Lannister stared at his new King. It was the first thing he had done, with no prompt from his brother, Jaime dropped to his knee. 

If he was alive, which it seemed like he was, there was no more of this fighting for his family. It was just him and Tyrion now. If Tyrion was the Hand of the King, it meant Jaime had no one. He dropped to his knee, with a sword he borrowed from a member of the King’s guard and swore loyalty. 

“Arise,” Bran said. 

Jaime carefully got to his feet. Even with the milk of the poppy and the months of travel, he still was sore. His wounds pulled from time to time, a reminder that he was lucky to be alive. 

“I should have you executed in the square,” Bran said honestly. “For your crimes against my family, against the people of King’s Landing, against Brandon Stark.” 

“Your Grace, if I may,” Jaime interrupted. 

“As King, it is at my sole discretion that you, Jaime Lannister, first of his name, member of the King’s guard, Lord of the realm and protector of the six Kingdoms, are pardoned of any and all crimes previously committed.” 

Jaime nodded. A weight off his chest. He looked to his brother who was standing tall next to the King. 

“It will be up to the Lord Commander to deem you a knight once again, if she so chooses.” 

“Yes, Your Grace.” Jaime said quickly and easily. 

“Come,” Tyrion said, stepping away from the King. “I will show you to the new King’s guard barracks.” 

As Tyrion took him through the Keep, familiar paths and new paths to get where they needed to go amongst the rubble still present, he couldn’t help but think of the new Lord Commander. 

She.

_Brienne_. 

**Three**

Jaime played with the makeshift doll in his hands. He had gotten it more than a fortnight now and it still bothered him. A young girl creating comfort. He shook his head and sat it down next to his bed. He fixed his gold plate over his chest, his sides still delicate. 

He was about to leave when he saw her standing in the doorway. 

Jaime tilted his head and gave her a small smile. 

“What can I do for you, my lady?” 

It had been warned that she appreciated the title Ser, but in conversation it was not necessary. He knew she didn’t like being called a lady, but it was what she was. 

“I was looking for Ser Podrick,” Brienne said honestly. “It’s rather late for you to be in here, isn’t it?” 

“I’m next on the rotation,” Jaime said authoritatively. “I was headed to find the King now.” 

“He’s most likely in the Godswood,” Brienne said. “He told me he’d be there for the better part of the afternoon.” 

“Thank you, my lady,” Jaime nodded, moving past her. 

He did in fact find the King in the Godswood, which is where Podrick was. Jaime informed him that the Lord Commander was looking for him and Podrick didn’t have to go far. Brienne was standing at the entrance of the Godswood and Jaime watched as the two of them made small talk. Brienne smiled at something and shook her head, then with a good shove she pushed Podrick away. 

“They have become good friends,” the King said. 

“It seems like they have.” 

Brienne hovered he noticed. Worried about him? Worried about the King? Bored with her daily duties already? 

“I’ll be back,” The King said. 

Jaime waited for his eyes to turn white before stepping away. He looked to the entrance of the Godswood and found that Brienne was gone. Disappointment filled him, but understanding. She still didn’t trust him. 

**Four**

He had called her wench. It was a mistake. It was a call back to who they were, before the wars, before when Cersei was alive and Daenerys Targaryen was a rising threat. 

He found himself in the Godswood. It was close enough to the King in case of emergency, and easy to run to the barracks in case he had to wake his brothers and the Lord Commander. 

Death he found, was a taunting beast. He dreamt of Cersei and Ser Gregore, Ser Gregore spearing him with his sword before Jaime went North. He dreamt of Ellaria Sand kissing him instead of Marcella. He dreamt he would take a step off the highest window of the Keep, plummeting to his death at the sight of the Sept imploding with wildfire. He dreamt he choked on Joffrey’s wine, his skin turning purpleish blue and no one at his side. 

More often than not he found a basin with cool water and a cloth next to his bed. His bed was usually beyond ruin from his thrashing. It was the nightmares he hated. The nightmares he called for. Death delivered. 

“I appreciate you coming out here, instead of waking half the garrison,” a voice said. 

Of course. Brienne. 

“I apologize,” Jaime said. “The dreams just come.” 

“I’m sure.” 

She sat next to him on the small stone bench. They had been getting closer. She still sought Podrick out more than him, but it was fine. He tasked himself with small missions to complete when he wasn’t on rotation. To get his mind off of things. 

“Jaime of House Lannister,” Brienne started. “First of his name, took Riverrun from the Tully Rebels without loss of life. Sacrificed his childhood home in service to a greater strategy. Pledged himself to the forces of men and rode north to join them at Winterfell, alone. Faced the Army of the dead, and defended the castle until the defeat of the Night King. Escaped imprisonment and rode South in an attempt to save the capitol from destruction.” 

Silence fell over them. 

“And you told me you weren’t a good man.” Brienne said. 

She stood and looked at him, a hand to his cheek. “Never lie to me again.” 

“Yes my lady,” Jaime said, nodding. 

“Come on,” she said, tilted her head towards the tower. “I have next watch. You could use a good sleep.” 

Grateful didn’t begin to describe the feeling of a soft, comfortable bed. He sunk into her covers, surrounded by her smell and the crackle of the damn fire. 

Death didn’t come to him that night. 

**Five**

Jaime had been at breakfast with his brother. It was something that had been started not long after Jaime had arrived to stay in King’s Landing. A horn blew and Jaime left. His pulse raced. His heart pounded; it reminded him of the horn that blew the night the Dead came to Winterfell. 

He hadn’t gotten any farther from the door of the barracks before he heard: “Ser Jaime!” 

Brienne, in her white cloak, Wolf gold plated armor, was red in the face when she approached him. 

“Ships coming in,” she said. “No banners.” 

Together they ran for the gate. For the docks. Ready to meet whoever it was that decided to descend upon King’s Landing. 

It wasn’t until they were welcoming Arya Stark to King’s Landing, Brienne chastising her for the lack of banners, that it had hit him. She had called him Ser Jaime. 

Not until later, after the reunion of brother and sister, a feast for the King, the end of day small council meeting that he challenged her on it. 

“Do I take it that I have been knighted once again,  _ Ser _ Brienne?” Jaime asked. 

He had found himself in her chambers, once again, in the White Sword Tower. He was down to his comfortable breeches and undershirt. His boots and armor were in a corner. 

She had poured him a cup of ale, which he didn’t immediately reach for. 

“That is up to the King,” Brienne said. “I’ve been told you have been stripped of all lands and titles.” 

“And it is up to the Lord Commander to deem me a knight once again,” Jaime said, quoting the King, so long ago now. “I take it you have deemed me a knight, once again.” 

“I haven’t decided if it pleases me,” Brienne said. 

It was then that Jaime stood and stood in front of Brienne, challenging her to deny it. 

“Does it please you, my lady?” Jaime asked. “That I am here.” 

“I haven’t decided yet.” 

With a wolfish grin, a smug look on his face, he reached for the cup of ale, and raised it between them. “Drink.” 

Ser Jaime, of House Lannister, first of his name, member of the King’s guard, Lord of the realm, protector of the Six Kingdoms, slept without death. It no longer lingered. 

It was the first time in a long time he felt alive and whole. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who read and commented on The Gold Cloak of Rebuilding! I really appreciate it! 
> 
> Let me know what you think about this one!


End file.
